


Et Ce Que Tu Seras Demain  Encore Me Séduira

by Cinnamonsin



Category: Matthew Healy - Fandom, The 1975 (Band)
Genre: (but could definitely be a ROMANCE), Breakups, Bromance, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, George makes Matty tea, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Matty kinda discovers that he’s bi, Nostalgia, Soft Matty, Tea, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, bxb - Freeform, sad matty, self discovery, soft content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 04:15:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20521781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamonsin/pseuds/Cinnamonsin
Summary: George and Matty share a flat in London and Matty can’t sleep by himself...





	Et Ce Que Tu Seras Demain  Encore Me Séduira

**Author's Note:**

> For the love of ROSS, please take a moment to read this brief AN.
> 
> Hello all! This is going to be my first story that I’ve ever posted here. I’ve been extremely nervous to give this to the internet as I’m not the most confident with my writing skills and I don’t know what people will think of my work. I’ve been writing Matty x George since I started listening to the 1975 late last year and they’re one of my favourite pairings to work with, so I have a few stories that I’m currently working on that are quickly piling up in my google drive. This is the first I’ve completed, and I rarely see updates to the MxG tag here so I thought I’d finally add my own story to the mix. Please feel free to leave a like or a comment (I don’t even care what it is, you could keyboard smash and I’d still appreciate it :3) Let me know if I can make any improvements to this piece, or if you’d like to see more content like it. A quick disclaimer: I’m not British (I’m Canadian so I’m close enough :p) and hopefully my use of British slang isn’t weird or cringey. I wanted to make it sound as natural as possible, so I didn’t use a lot of it.
> 
> If you’re interested, the title is borrowed from the song Garde le Pour Tois by Paradis. Translated to proper English, it means “And what you’ll be tomorrow shall seduce me still.” I thought it fit with the story quite well.  
I started writing this around January of this year and just got around to finishing the last few paragraphs recently. For your reading pleasure, this story is meant to be set during a non specific time period, so you could imagine it taking place during any of the 1975 eras.
> 
> That’s all I have to say for myself. So sit back, grab some tea, and enjoy. :)

“George?”

Matty pushed George’s bedroom door open slightly, and poked his head in.

“George?”

He could hear the other man’s gentle snores as he slept. Matty stepped into the dark room, careful of which wooden floorboards he stepped on, as he knew that there were a select few that would creak underneath him if he put his full weight on them. His sock covered feet padded across the floor, and stopped next to George’s bed. Matty concentrated on the face that held the warm blue of the moonlight that streamed into the room through the window. He watched George’s bare chest rise and fall as he breathed evenly. The duvet was kicked down to the foot end of the bed. Surprisingly, George was wearing a pair of trackies, despite the Summer heat that floated through the room. His legs were spread across his sheets. He looked as if he’d been restless before falling asleep…

“_George_?” Matty spoke a bit louder. There was a slight closed-mouth groan that sounded from George’s throat as he flipped over, away from Matty. “George?” An intricately tattooed bicep twitched against the pillow. “Are you awake?” George struggled to take a deep breath in through his nose as he stirred some more while he left his unconscious state. 

“I am _ now, _you twat,” he grumbled blearily. “What?” His speech was all throaty bass, and slightly threatening. Matty wringed his hands together.

“You know… never mind, it’s not important. Go back to sleep.” Matty turned to leave to room.

“Fuck’s sake, get over here. You’ve already woken me up. What is it?” George mumbled and rolled back over, facing towards Matty. He grimaced as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“It’s _ really _ not important…”

“Well then why’d you wake me up?” George started to lose his patience.

“It’s stupid.”

“Come on, mate.”

Matty took a deep breath. “Can I sleep with you?”

“What? Why?” George spoke groggily.

“I’m lonely… I miss sharing a bed with _ her_…” Matty cast his eyes to the woven rug he was standing on.

“Alright, then. Come here, love.” George sounded a bit warmer, though still slightly miffed at having been woken unexpectedly, and lazily extended his arms as if to accept Matty into a hug. Matty smiled and crawled into bed with George, he pressed his forehead into the larger man’s chest and closed his eyes. He let out a heavy sigh. George wrapped his arm around Matty’s lithe torso and gently ran his rough hand up and down his back. “I’m sorry you’ve been feeling a bit shit lately.” His sympathizing words fell into Matty’s hair, and he couldn’t help but inhale the light scent of coconut shampoo twisted into the thick, dark curls.

“_A bit _ would be an understatement.” Matty tried to keep his eyes dry as he thought about his ex, absentmindedly tracing his fingers along the skin of George’s collarbone. “Why am _ I _ always the one getting dumped? It’s not fair,” Matty complained.

“I don’t know, Matthew.” George pulled his eyes from Matty’s hair and looked through the window, into the sky that hadn’t been overcast for over a whole week. The stars would’ve been visible for sure, if not for the light pollution in central London; they weren’t anywhere in sight. The moon was always there though; constant, ever present, and it was full that night. George sighed quietly. Milky white light glowed softly against the darkness of the infinite expanse above. An oddly cool breeze drifted into the room through the gap in the window. George felt Matty shiver slightly as the temperature shifted from dreadfully hot to icy cool.

“I _ like _ to think I’m a good person…” Matty said. “Maybe I’m just an overly pretentious prat...”

“No,” George spoke softly.

“Then why is it that every girl I’ve ever been with has ended up dumping me?”

“I don’t know,” George repeated. “How awake are you, darling?”

“A lot?” 

“Would you like a cuppa?” George asked, propping himself up on his pillow.

“Would you make one for me?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve just got this new kind; it’s from London Tea-”

“Oh, I love London Tea,” Matty interjected, a small smile appeared on his face.

“I know you do. It’s got floral elements and all that, I think you’d like it.”

“I’ll have a cup…”

“Alright darling, just wait here and get comfortable, I’ll be back in a few.” George turned away from Matty and stood up from his bed, stretching his arms straight up. He could nearly brush the ceiling with his fingertips, and stepped out of the already open door, not bothering to close it all the way as he left the room. His heavy, barefoot steps made the floorboards in the hallway creak slightly as he walked.

Matty watched the gap in the doorway illuminate faintly with the soft golden glow of the stovetop light in the kitchen. He heard some porcelain mugs clinking together gently, and two taps as he visualized George placing them on the counter. Matty pulled George’s duvet up to his chest and closed his eyes as he felt the chill from outside waft around him. He felt a tingle run down his spine as he ignored the breeze and re-fixed his attention on the comforting sounds of George moving about the kitchen. 

The sounds brought him back to weekends at his family house in Wilmslow, before his parents divorced. On the rare mornings when the two adults weren’t bickering with each other, Matty would wake up to the sound of his mother in the kitchen, fiddling around whilst making tea or breakfast for herself. The delicately bright light of the sun would shine through the blinds in his room. The calming cacophony of dishes being sorted or put away echoed through the partially open door that was adorned with his favourite poster of Michael Jackson. That was home to him: nine am on a Saturday, listening to the inimitable sounds of the household.

Before he could remember the tension in the house at that time in his life, he switched his focus back on the present time, and let his body melt at the feeling of being there, in the ‘now’ rather than the ‘then'.

He shivered again, and realized how much he missed having a body next to his, something warm, constant like the moon in the cloudless sky. Before he could even register what he was doing, he was out of bed, walking out of the bedroom toward the kitchen, careful again of which floorboards he stepped on. When he reached the threshold of the kitchen, he stood silently for a moment underneath the lintel, watching and listening. George hummed a nearly inaudible tune lowly under his breath, drumming his fingers against the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil. He then switched his attention to two yellow coloured tea bags, and fidgeted with them. Matty watched George’s hands, they were almost comically large compared to the little sachets in his fingers.

Matty missed the hands of his ex: smooth skin, neatly manicured fingernails, small enough to fit into his own palms. George’s hands were his own, they were working hands —musician’s hands, rough and recently scarred from playing his drums.

Matty fondly remembered the placement of some of the scars on George’s fingers. He recalled the countless injuries from lacrosse games he’d attended to watch the younger boy play and get hurt during, and the accidental burns from hair straighteners, and that on time Matty’s pet snake escaped its terrarium and gave George a horrible bite on his thumb…

George never really used his hands harshly anywhere other than on his instruments. If people could be ‘light-footed,’ then George was ‘light-handed.’ The way he held a note on a keyboard, the way he held a pen while signing autographs, the way he stroked Matty’s back: gentle, peaceful, intentional.

Matty fell in love with George’s hands. 

The glow of the stovetop light fell in shades of orange across the room; some of the rays landed on George’s naked back. They cast shadows that accentuated the muscles that resided there and shifted as he moved. Matty felt his lips part. It was as if, in that moment, his eyes were fixed on the silhouette of some kind of Greek god. He was captivated by the strong form that stood oblivious to him. Tattoos adorned his shoulders and twisted down his arms. Every interwoven piece was permanent artistry that held some kind of purpose. Though some meant the world to George, others had no meaning at all. Only vague memories were attached to those small pieces that tagged his skin. Matty recalled that tattoo parlour down the road from their childhood neighbourhood where they’d sat in the cheap vinyl chairs for hours and hours. The needles pierced their skin only because they were bored, only because there was nothing better to do…

Matty fell in love with George’s body.

Matty loved the feeling of holding a girl in his arms. He loved her curves, soft breaths, soft skin, small frame. But in that moment, he wanted to _ be _ held, to have protective arms wrapped around _ himself _ for a change. He stepped up to George silently, and felt the taller man flinch slightly as he wrapped his arms around George’s waist, hugging him from behind. He rested his head in the space between George’s shoulder blades.

“Hi,” was all that Matty could manage to say.

“Hello, love,” George replied. Matty sighed as he felt the reverberation of the low spoken words on his cheek.

“What are you doing out of bed?” George questioned. “I was going to bring the tea back for you.”

“I got lonely,” Matty answered.

“Oh, _ Matthew._”

There was a brief moment of silence between them. The warmth that emitted from both of their bodies blended together. George felt something hot drip onto his back, and slowly trickle down. “Matty, are you… crying?” He asked. The smaller man shook his head into George’s upper back. 

“No,” he lied with a sniffle. He wiped his tear off of George’s skin with his hand.

“Come ‘ere.” George turned around, switching their position so that Matty was facing his chest. George took Matty’s small hands in his own, rubbing them gently. Matty stared down at the indelible black rectangle on George’s thumb, refusing to let the younger man see him like this. His long, shaggy curls hung down in front of his face. George pushed them back with a tender hand, and lifted Matty’s chin so that he stared into the older man’s glassy chocolate eyes, lashes already soaked with the tears that brimmed from his waterlines.

“_I __miss her_,” he said, glancing back down at the floor; the decibel of his voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” George smiled sympathetically as he brushed a fresh droplet off of Matty’s cheek with his thumb. “I _ know_.” He placed his free arm around Matty’s waist and gripped his side lightly, allowing him to relax against his chest for a moment.

“The kettle’s almost ready now. Would you like milk with yours?” George asked softly.

“Is this one good with milk?” Matty questioned.

“I think so,” George replied. “The lady at the shop said it was.”

“Alright.” 

George took a step away from the shorter man to make his way to the refrigerator. Matty stopped himself from whining at the loss of contact, and leaned back against the counter. He rubbed his wet eyes with the palms of his hands. He looked down at his left hand. A fallen eyelash lay on his mount of Venus. A little good luck ritual his mum taught him when he was small came to mind, and he blew the lash off of his hand.

“What’d you wish for?” George asked casually as he walked back from the fridge, carrying a carton of two percent in his hand. Matty looked back up toward George, not having noticed that he had seen him perform the childish practice.

“Nothing,” Matty answered stoically.

“No, not nothing,” George said. “Come on, love, I’m curious now.” Matty could practically hear George’s grin as he unscrewed the cap on the milk carton and poured about an ounce into Matty’s mug.

“Just for someone to hold me,” Matty responded noncommittally as he glanced back to the floor, trying not to start crying again. His voice broke slightly. George brought the milk back to the fridge.

“I can do that, all you have to do is ask,” he said

“_ Would _ you?” Matty asked, a bit taken aback. He stood up straight from the counter.

“We share a bed all the time, Matthew, why wouldn’t I give you a cuddle now?” George handed Matty’s mug to him, and grabbed his own. He placed his free palm on the small of Matty’s back and ushered him back to his room. “So you’re still pretty upset about-”

“Don’t even say her name George. I can’t stand hearing it in my head, I can’t stand hearing it spoken out loud,” Matty said sternly.

“I’ll respect that,” George complied softly. “You’re still upset about _ her_?”

“Yes.” Matty took a sip of his tea, but immediately pulled the hot mug away from his mouth. The steaming liquid left a burning sensation on the delicate flesh of his lips and tongue. He made a small noise and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You burn yourself?” George asked. Matty nodded. George chuckled as he opened the door. “Not so fast next time.”

“I don’t want it to get cold too quickly.” He set his mug on the side table next to George’s big bed, and sat down on the mattress. The frame squeaked slightly as he adjusted himself so that he was comfortably sat up against the pillows.

“So you’d rather get burned?” George asked curiously. He walked around the bed and set his own mug down on the other side table, and flipped on the lamp.

“No…”

“Then _ slow down _.”

Matty looked down at the mug of tea on the side table next to him. He thought for a moment. “Why don’t girls like me?” He asked aloud. George burst out laughing, and Matty opened his mouth, but George spoke first. 

“You’ve got to be joking!” He exclaimed. “You _ literally _ have _ thousands _ of girls that would _ murder someone _ for a lock of your hair, mate.”

“That’s no consolation,” Matty said seriously. “They’re all twelve. I’d like someone who’s _at_ _least_ nineteen. I don’t want people to think I’m a nonce or some shit.” George laughed softly. Matty picked up his tea, and blew on it lightly. He inhaled deeply and sighed, craving a sip. “This smells delicious,” he said.

“It does doesn't it?” George looked out of the window. The sky was still dark, and the moon still shone with its reflection of the sun. He looked at the clock on his side table. “Fuck’s sake, it’s half four,” he said.

“Is it really?” Matty asked. He leaned up past George and checked the clock for himself. “Christ. I think I’ll be up for the rest of the night at this rate.”

“You’ll fall asleep again,” George reassured him. He took a gulp of his own tea.

“Fucking hell. How do you do that? You must have a throat made of steel or something, George,” Matty exclaimed, his tone of voice was much less solemn than it had been before. George chuckled.

“My mum’s like that; I think I get it from her,” he explained as he took another sip.

“Yeah? Huh…” Matty responded absentmindedly as he stared back into his tea, he watched the swirling steam dissipate into the air, and felt the sticky condensation heat up his face. “What kind of tea did you say this was again?”

“Ehm… I can’t remember,” George lied. “Something with flowers in it, I guess.” He shrugged. Matty took a tiny sip of his tea. He smacked his lips and his tongue together for an obscenely long amount of time as he playfully tasted the minute amount of liquid in his mouth. George laughed.

“Shut up.” He shoved Matty over with his shoulder. The older man let out a slight giggle at his own antics, his dark curls bouncing lightly as he did so.

“Tastes nice,” he said simply, and finally took a proper sip, having decided that it was cool enough to drink.

“Good,” George said, and took another sip of his own.

“It’s quite pleasant. Smooth, gentle, sweet. It’s good,” Matty continued.

“I’m glad you like it.” George smiled. “See, life isn’t all that bad, is it?”

“What?” Matty asked, confused at where that statement had come from.

“Kind of like the tea, innit? You get burned if you take it all too quickly, but if you slow down and just admire it, you realize it’s not all that bad.”

“_What _ are you on about, mate?” Matty looked at George with a mildly confused expression.

“I don’t know.” George chuckled as he shook his head.

“_I’m _ supposed to be the one coming up with obscure, existential metaphors.” Matty giggled. “You’re such a goof.” He rested his head on George’s shoulder.

“Thanks.” George rolled his eyes playfully. He shifted the direction of his gaze slightly in order to look down at Matty, who held his mug of tea in both hands, and returned it to his lips. George couldn’t tell what was stronger, the sugar-like scent of Matty’s curls that tickled his bare shoulder, or the aroma of the chamomile tea that they were drinking. He smiled softly, his thoughts lost in the mess of the other man’s hair.

“I suppose you _ are _ right about life though,” Matty stated.

“_Really_?” George asked, interested that Matty had found some kind of validity in his daft attempt at an analogy.

“Yeah… sometimes you _ do _ have to take time to experience life, to ‘smell the roses’, if you will —or the tea in this case, I suppose,” Matty stated. George laughed and took an unnecessarily deep sniff right over his tea. Matty laughed with him. “You think you’re _ so _ funny, don’t you?” He sat up and shook his head, though a smile still rested on his lips.

“I am!” George said, his voice laced with playful indignance, he shoved Matty again.

“Oi, watch it, mate! You’re gonna make me spill my tea!” Matty switched hands and held his mug in his left. He shoved George back with his right shoulder, though his light push was no match against George’s sturdy physicality.

“Weak,” George mumbled under his breath.

“_ Pardon me _?” Matty challenged playfully.

“Nothing,” George sassed. “Drink your tea.” He took another swig of his own.

“Alright, _ mum _.” Matty took another little sip. “It’s just right,” he said with a pleasantly surprised expression at the temperature, and took a larger sip.

“How are you feeling, now?” George asked gingerly, wary of spilling any salt on Matty’s wounds.

“Better, actually…” Matty smiled up at George. Their shades of brown got stuck together for a moment. Matty stared into George’s eyes pensively, and he swore that he could see little specks of amber dancing around in them. Matty’s gaze fell back to his tea for a moment. When he looked back up to George, his expression was coy. He shifted himself slightly so he could reach George’s cheekbone with his lips; the younger man’s light sprinkling of stubble was coarse against them, but the skin underneath it was pleasantly warm. Matty pulled away quickly, and took another delicate sip of his tea, hoping to wash off some of the sparkling, champagne-like sensation that lingered on his mouth —all this did was heighten the feeling. George flushed pink, and opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, trying to think of something to say, Matty spoke first.

“I’m not feeling lonely anymore…” He simpered up at George. “Thanks to you…” He took in every centimetre of George’s awkwardly blushing face as he looked at him. He fell harder for every curve and slope that the younger man’s pale flesh took the shape of. “Thank you… I mean it.” Matty shied away and stared into his tea again, feeling almost unworthy to look at George’s golden countenance. “If you weren’t here to console me with a cuppa and a cuddle, I don’t know what I’d be doing.” Matty thought for a second, lost in the aroma of the tea. “Probably wallowing in self pity,” he decided with a shrug.

“Well… I’m glad I could-ehm… help,” George said, still a bit shocked that Matty had just given him a kiss.

“Yeah, me too... Y’know, I don’t even miss her all that much anymore,” Matty said with conviction.

“No?” George said, a bit surprised at the other man’s new attitude toward his situation.

“No,” Matty confirmed. “I think it’s all these wanky girls I’m dating. I need someone like this tea.” He yawned. George looked at him confusedly.

“Wha-?”

“Someone sweet, gentle, smooth, _ simple _,” Matty continued. “Someone humble.” George smiled. He was never partial to Matty’s choice of girlfriends to begin with, but it wasn’t the time to mention that.

“There’s the Matty I know. Making your weird little metaphors.” He grinned down at the smaller man.

“Shut up,” Matty chided. He finished his tea.

“You gonna write a song?” George asked, looking forward to more studio time with Matty. The two always had so much fun together as they made samples with the other boys. As George tested and mixed rhythms and melodies, Matty danced around like an idiot, mumbling awkward scatty lyrics until he found a sentence structure that he liked the sound of.

“Maybe,” he replied with a shrug. He yawned again. “Not now. I’m actually a bit tired.”

“You want to go back to bed?” George asked, wondering if Matty would want to sleep in his own room or not.

“Would you… mind… if I- ehm… stayed here? With you?” Matty asked, his brown eyes were wide, and worried that George would want him out, because, truth be told, Matty knew that if he wasn’t with George, he’d revert to his previous lonely state, especially if he was just laying in the bed that he had shared with _ her _ only twenty four hours prior.

“You _ know _ you can stay here if you need to.” George smiled gently. Matty let out a soft sigh of relief.

“Thank you.”

“Go to sleep,” the larger man advised as he set down his own empty cup of tea on his side table. He switched off his lamp, leaving the two in the dark of the bedroom and the gentle light of the moon. They adjusted their positioning under the duvet so that their fronts were lightly pressed together. George impulsively wrapped his arm around Matty’s waist, holding him close. The older man let out a content huff of warm breath that tickled George’s collar bone in the most pleasant way, the heat wound its way through the nerves in his chest. Matty nuzzled his forehead into George’s neck and closed his eyes with a sleepy hum. George’s heart swelled, and he smiled.

“I love you.” He rubbed his hand up and down Matty’s back, tracing and circling his fingers every now and again.

“I love you too,” Matty softly mumbled into George’s neck with a smile of his own. He was loved, he was cared for by someone, sated with the protective arms around him. They held a strength that he was certain only George possessed, a gentle, caring, almost sensitive stability that nearly brought him to tears. George brought his hand up to Matty’s curls and combed through them tenderly. The older man felt his eyelids beginning to get heavy with the sleep he so badly needed. He let them flutter shut on their own. George placed his lips to the ringlets on the top of Matty’s head.

“Goodnight, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this! It /really/ means the world to me. I don’t have many fandom friends to share my writing with (who would appreciate it), so I thought I’d share with you, and since you’ve made it this far, I hope you enjoyed it :D  
Like I said at the beginning, comments and kudos are welcome and would actually make my day haha.
> 
> Thanks again!


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